


Gotham City Sister-Wives

by niteynyx



Series: Nitey's Commissions [22]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Breeding, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Harems, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27976209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niteynyx/pseuds/niteynyx
Summary: A small mistake leads to Poison Ivy's newest, most potent pheromones being rubbed all over Batman's suit. They drive him nearly mad with lust, and make his horndog advances irresistible to the nearest women: Batgirl, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy herself. Anonymous commission in two parts.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Bruce Wayne, Batman/Batgirl, Harleen Quinzel/Bruce Wayne, Pamela Isley/Bruce Wayne
Series: Nitey's Commissions [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896736
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

What do you get when you throw three very different people in a relatively small downtown Gotham City apartment? A lot of petty squabbles, probably, whether those people are men or women. No one has room to breathe, to decompress, to let off steam before it boils over and someone loses their proverbial gasket.

Now, what do you get when you give those three people superpowers -- or at the very least, super-sized personalities? If those three people are men, much of the same. Squabbles. Inane attempts at posturing or establishing dominance over the other men in the living space. Nothing good, in other words. Women, though?

That can be a bit more variable. Sure, you might get some super-sized squabbles or squat down pissing contests, but you might also end up with three women who can coexist in their mutual chaos. Not in peace, because no one with powers (or those super-sized personalities) gets to have any real peace in their lives. 

And those women will probably prosper together in their independence. 

_ Most of the time, _ Pamela Isley thought to herself, better known as Poison Ivy these days. Selina Kyle and Harley Quinn were great roommates. She shook her head and tried to block out the noise coming from the next room over. It was one of those nights where no one was prospering; Ivy was communing with her plants, trying to formulate a new pheromone that would improve her control over its victims. It wasn’t going well. Harley was wailing and sobbing over her latest break-up with the Joker, her howls (and the howls of her fucking  _ hyenas _ ) making it impossible to focus.

And Selina…

Well, Selina Kyle was going out for a date with Bruce Wayne. Selina might consider that prospering, and Harley Quinn was undoubtedly jealous of her friend’s  _ mostly _ stable relationship with the billionaire. Ivy didn’t see all the fuss about cock. To her, men were usually obstacles or just means to an end, even when she found them attractive. Not that Ivy ever voiced her opinion.

Besides, how many other women in the world were able to conjure  _ very _ versatile vines whenever something aroused her whimsy? She shook her and drew in a soft breath through her full lips, closing her eyes and trying to block out Harley’s hysterics. Even though Harley had clearly moved on to breaking things with her mallet, Ivy found herself getting into the necessary state of mind to do her work.

The half-plant redhead let herself relax. She didn’t stir when the door cracked open, already aware through the plants in the living room that it was Selina checking on her. Unlike Harley, Selina knew better than to interrupt Ivy when she was trying to work. If it had been Harley, some of those versatile vines would have sprang up to block her way.

_ And maybe deal with her hysterics in a different way, _ Ivy thought to herself. Selina cleared her throat and knocked at the door, stepping inside. Interrupted after all, Ivy sighed and opened her eyes, looking sidelong at Selina. She expected to see her in an evening gown and pearls, but to her mild surprise Selina had squeezed into her skintight catsuit. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I was just wondering if you could do a fragrance for me.” Selina’s green eyes cut over to the wall dividing Ivy’s room from Harley’s. Almost a second later, something crashed against it and shattered loudly.

Ivy simply rolled her eyes. Selina flinched. Harley gasped, and then her wailing began anew. “W-w-we made that together in POTTERY CLASS,” she shrieked, as though blaming another for the destruction of the sentimental object and symbol of her perpetual attachment to the Joker.

Selina cleared her throat again, then smiled a bit awkwardly. “Harley borrowed the one I wanted to use tonight,” she explained. “And--it just doesn’t seem like a great time to go ask for it, you know?”

“That’s understating it.” Though annoyed, Ivy lifted her hand and crooked her finger at Selina. It wasn’t that either one of them would be in  _ danger _ if they went in there. They would just be stuck comforting Harley for the rest of the night, and they both knew that it wouldn’t actually do her a lick of good. Whether or not throwing an all-nighter tantrum was a healthy way to deal with her unhealthy relationship’s hardships, Harley just needed to be  _ Harley _ for a while. She needed unfiltered chaos.

“Thanks, Ivy. Sorry for barging in.”

“Mm.” As Selina approached her, Ivy reached out for one of her vines -- and then Harley shrieked again. Not in hysterics and not in sorrow; her shriek was a battle cry, quickly punctuated by her mallet slamming into the wall and smashing a hole through it. This time, Selina wasn’t the only one who flinched. Ivy’s hand pulled back and took hold of the wrong vine, too distracted and irritated to notice her mistake.

“S-sorry,” Harley mumbled through the hole. “L-lemme just… sorry, sorry… I gots some scotch tape, so I’ll just--” They both watched, perplexed, as Harley put up a poster over the hole. A poster of a bare-chested Joker, with the white back facing  _ Harley _ and Joker’s off-colored nipples facing them, enticing neither.

“... Take her to Home Depot tomorrow,” Ivy told Selina, instead of asking her. She slid her hand along the vine and brought fresh life to the dormant flower at its end, spraying what  _ wasn’t _ just a fragrance all over Selena, not that either of them would realize it at the time. “Are you really going on a date in  _ that _ ?” the redhead asked a moment later, giving a meaningful look to Selina’s catsuit. As her hand fell away, the vine retracted itself. 

“Oh, yeah.” Selina’s smile curled like a cat watching a mouse. “You’d be surprised what sort of kinky stuff rich white guys are into.” She stepped back and towards the door before Harley had a chance to knock another hole in the wall. “Thanks again, Ivy.”

“Mm.” Ivy shook her head and got back to work on her pheromones, unaware that the unfinished product would soon be put to the test, though not by her or even Selina. 

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

“So,” Selina whispered as she pressed herself in close to Batman’s side, crushing her voluptuous breasts against his muscular side, her lithe body diminutive in comparison to his. “What do you say we ditch the kid? Find a nice, secluded rooftop…” Her words trailed off just as her hand trailed along, sliding down the Bat’s chest and abdomen and down to his codpiece. She drummed her fingers against the shell protecting the  _ real _ treasure of the Batman’s utility belt. “And do a little one-on-one ‘crimefighting’?” she finished, smiling slowly but with plain, debaucherous intent.

Costumed ‘dates’ were Bruce’s favorite, but he was fucking  _ terrible _ about signalling whether or not he actually wanted to fuck her or if he needed Selina to steal something. Months ago, the two tumultuous lovers got into a fight about it and came up with a simple compromise. Every  _ second _ time Bruce invited her on a costumed ‘date’ would be a purely carnal affair, letting the nymphomaniac sex kitten get all her needs out of the way. 

This ‘date’ was supposed to be nothing but hard sex. It sure wasn’t.

“Later.” Batman muttered, not letting his focus lapse despite how close Selina’s dexterous fingers were to his cock. Though her skintight suit showed off the deep valley of her cleavage, he kept watching their target through his binoculars. “You need to get in position,” he added. “We’re only going to have a slim window to get what we came for.”

“What position? Selina purred, sliding her hand back up Bruce’s stomach. “Because, you know,” she added with a little less sensuality and a lot more simmered irritation, “we’re here for pretty different things.” Bruce wanted her to steal evidence from  _ crooks _ . Not supervillains, not the mafia,  _ crooks _ . “And I don’t feel all that patient.” She certainly didn’t feel like sharing her time with the Bat with his sidekick. Not the boy wonder, but Batgirl, who was watching their target a little further away while Batman briefed the Cat.

“Get in position,” Batman growled, brooking no argument with his own impatience. “When we’re done here, we’ll do what you want.”

“Whatever,” Selina said, rolling her eyes and pushing away from Batman. “Fine. I’ll ‘get in position’.” She sauntered away, shooting Batman a look over her shoulder. “But after that, I’m not sticking around.” With a nimble leap, she left their perch and swung towards her ‘position’ with a quick lash of her whip. 

If only she knew about the pheromones she wore in lieu of a fragrance, and how they would begin to affect Batman. Had she been patient and persistent for a  _ few _ more minutes, well, she would have gotten exactly what she wanted and then some. As it was, she unwittingly rubbed it all over him like a cat in heat and left before she could reap the rewards.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

“Is she in position?” Barbara asked as she returned to Batman’s side, a casual smile on her face as she glanced up at his. It felt like ages since she had some alone time with her mentor. Not that she  _ minded _ solo patrols or teaming up with multiple members of the Bat family at once, of course. It was just nice to have him to herself.

Not that Barbara Gordon held any romantic notions towards Bruce Wayne, towards Batman. She would have to be a bold-faced liar to deny the fact that there was a time where Barbara wanted nothing more than to have a sweet moonlight kiss with him. In her fantasies, he would save her from a group of thugs with ill intentions for the police commissioner’s daughter. In those dreams, Gotham’s Dark Knight was always a proper gentleman despite her clothes being in chaotic disarray, dislodged here and torn there. The kiss only happened because she insisted on it -- and gentleman that he was, how could Batman refuse?

That was before she was Batgirl, when she was a teenager who only had fleeting brush-ins with the caped crusader. After she became Batgirl, those fantasies became quite a bit more rougher and far more raunchier. In them, she didn’t need to convince Batman to kiss her. He kissed her fiercely as they stood over piles of henchmen and mooks; she wasn’t a damsel but a victorious amazon. She didn’t flush and gasp or insist on anything. While he took what he wanted, she did the same, grabbing his cock through his batsuit’s codpiece while he claimed her mouth with --

Barbara blinked. Where the fuck was  _ that _ all coming from? She grew out of those fantasies so long ago. They were on the job, so she endeavored to push the perverted fantasies from her mind. Batman was talking, but it was hard to focus on what he was saying to her. “Sorry,” she interrupted him, clearing her throat softly. “Say that again? I, um-- zoned out.” Inwardly, Barbara cringed. Batman was sharp as a tack and would pick up on her awkward pause and stumble. More likely than not, he’d press her on it. What the fuck would she even say?

For a moment, Batman -- Bruce? -- was silent, and then he turned towards Barbara wearing one of his habitual frowns, his natural resting face while wearing the cowl. “She can take care of this without us,” he told her. He paused before continuing. “She will take care of this without us. In fact, we’re just going to be in her way. We need to go,” he said… impulsively? Something was wrong.

“Are you-- did you two have a fight or something?” Barbara asked, wetting her lips. It was the immediate, rational explanation for her mentor’s behavior. The relationship between Catwoman and Batman was no secret to the various members of the Bat family. Suddenly feeling too warm in her batsuit, she shifted her hips -- or was she wiggling?  _ Fuck _ , Barbara realized.  _ I’m wet.  _ Already, her mind was going back to her fantasy.

“Something like that,” Batman said after another long pause. “Come on.” He turned sharply on his heel, grabbed his grappling hook from his utility belt, and took a dive off the rooftop. Trying again to push the perverse thoughts from her mind, Barbara followed suit.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

“D-do we really need to be watching this?” Barbara all but panted out the words, practically sweltering in her suit twenty minutes later. Something felt  _ extremely _ off with her arousal, but not so off that she dared question it. Certainly not vocally, and certainly not to the man standing just behind her. What was she going to do, tell the goddamn Batman that her little bat panties were getting wet? That for some inane reason, she kept thinking about his cock and how much she wanted it rammed in her tight little twat? 

“Yes,” the Bat growled. The aggression in his voice made Barbara shiver. Was it weird that he was standing so close to her, his hands possessive on her shoulders, gauntlet-clad fingers curled so roughly into the material of her batsuit? Barbara wetted her lips again. More than anything, it felt  _ right _ . She wanted his hands to slip down and grab at her tits. He wouldn’t be able to feel how hard her nipples were through the tight material, but she knew exactly how strong his grip strength was. She’d feel the squeeze.

After leaving Catwoman to complete her (but planned as  _ their _ ) mission on her lonesome, they traversed downtown Gotham until they came across what appeared to be a domestic disturbance. They perched on a roof opposite of a window that would let them assess the situation, though the domestic disturbance wasn’t what they expected. For the last few minutes, they stood there watching Harley Quinn throw what must have been the mother of all tantrums. 

Barbara didn’t recognize her at first. Not with her face clear of its clown makeup, and not with her signature red-and-black harlequin suit’s hood down. In retrospect, it was kind of funny how she had forgotten Harley Quinn was a blonde and that the belled tips of her jester hat wasn’t necessarily reflective of her hairdo. It made Barbara wonder why Harley covered her beauty up with the clown get-up. In a loose and distracted sort of way, mind, because the answer was immediately obvious: she was the Joker’s harlequin. It was her aesthetic.

“She’s pretty hot,” Barbara mumbled. It took her a moment to realize what she had said. Her eyes widened. This  _ really _ wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with Batman, and she really didn’t need the ultra-paranoid Dark Knight to begin wondering if his Batgirl might be into one of his sexiest enemies.  _ Greatest enemy’s girlfriend _ , she corrected herself with a cringe. … Was she sliding her hand between her batsuit’s thighs?  _ Fuck _ . She stopped that. 

“Yes,” the Bat growled once more, laconic and spartan in his assessment of Harley Quinn’s sex appeal. “She’s… pretty hot.”

_ Whew.  _ Awkward bullet dodged. Barbara blew out a sigh of relief, then paused and blinked. “What was tha-- whoa,” she gasped out as Batman suddenly stepped all the closer to her body, pressing his hips against Barbara’s firm ass. One of his hands slid down her body, ready and assertive in how it closed around her wrist. The other slid up to Barbara’s cowl and peeled it back from her head while she was still reeling from his proximity. His smell made her feel dizzy. “W-what are you doing?” she gasped out as Bruce guided her hand away from her thighs, towards her utility belt.

“I want you,” the caped crusader all but snarled his lust. “Right here, right now.” He guided her fingers towards  _ that _ button, the little latch that would release the adaptive plates covering Barbara’s ass and crotch. It was a built-in necessity of all their suits; no one had time to take off their entire costume when they needed quick access to their private parts on a stake out, whatever their purposes might be. 

Barbara shivered again, hesitating. “B-bruce,” she whispered, fully intending to refuse this unexpected and out of the blue advance. Across the street, Harley was in the middle of stripping down for whatever reason. She blinked, aware that she must have missed  _ something _ , but the supervillain’s nudity gave her the little push she needed. “Fuck it,” Barbara murmured rawly, letting the lust that she had been feeling for the last hour color her voice. She hit the button and a whole segment of her suit fell away, baring her sodden pussy to the cool night air. Her suit’s pelvic plates hit the rooftop with light thumps.

“Believe me,” Batman growled, “I’m going to.” Not at  _ all _ what she meant by ‘fuck it’, but Barbara was past caring now. A second later, she heard the thumps again as Batman unleashed his  _ real _ alter ego. Barbara reached out and grabbed the ledge of the roof, arching her back and looking over her shoulder with growing impatience. Batman didn’t bother taking off his cowl, which was fine by her. No matter how handsome or how rich Bruce Wayne was, Barbara wanted to fuck Batman, stoic and harsh and all power. 

“Come on,” she whispered, low and throaty, bracing herself with one hand and reaching behind herself with the other. She grabbed one half of her ass and spread herself wide open for him, meeting his eyes. Barbara didn’t even think of Dick for a second as she purred the words the Bat wanted to hear from her. “Come on and fuck my little bat-pussy with your bat-cock, Batman.”

Well, not  _ that _ Dick, anyway. She gasped when she first felt the blunt crown of his cock probing her damp lips, more than ready for his intrusion. Even so, he teased her, running it up and down her sensitive cunt’s entrance until Barbara began to let out a feline growl of frustration. “Hurry up,” she demanded, trying to thrust her hips back against him and force at least the tip inside of herself. “Put it in me, goddamnit.” But Batman had always been her better in crime-fighting, both when it came to investigation and the  _ fighting _ part, the martial arts. He had complete mastery of his body, and it seemed he had complete mastery of hers, quickly shifting to make her attempt at impaling herself become a glide across her pussy.

“Not yet,” the Batman snarled. “Beg for it,” he ordered her, reaching out to grab her long red hair and haul it back, making Barbara cry out in surprise as she craned her neck back. “Beg to be my little bat-slut,” he all but roared, uncharacteristically disturbing the neighborhood’s peace with his crusade against such crimes, large or small, forgotten.

Almost immediately, someone pushed out the window below them and shouted up at them, blind to whomever was at the end of their verbal whip. “It’s fucking three AM! Shut the fuck up or I’m calling the police!”

“Call them,” the dark defender of Gotham City retorted. “I’m the goddamn Batman, and I’m goddamn--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Barbara hissed out, like the angry little sex kitten that she was, sick of Batman’s shit and not willing to put up with a citizen’s perfectly reasonable demand for the two crimefighters to fuck off, rather than fuck on top of their apartment. “Shut the FUCK up and fuck your little bat-slut, Batman,” she demanded more fervently, again shaking and pushing her hips back against him. “Take that hard cock out of your utility belt and shove it up my cunt already,” she continued, her demands becoming more and more pleading. “Please, just-- just stop teasing me and--”

“Oh, FUCK,” Barbara screamed out when Batman made good on her demands and his implicit promise, ramming his stiff rod into her slick snatch. It was everything she ever imagined and then some, that first thrust managing to perfectly fill her cunt by the time his shaft hilted itself inside her. His sheer force had his balls give a sharp clap against her pussy’s lips, loud in the way only flesh on wet flesh can be while surely echoing in a nearby alleyway. “J-just like that,” she shrieked out into the night. “Fuck your little batslut just like that, Batman!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” the poor soul living right beneath the frisky couple shouted again. “I’M ACTUALLY CALLING THE POLICE.” They slammed the window, but neither Batman nor Barbara -- no, Batslut -- cared. The superheroes had nothing more on their mind than getting off, and getting off quickly at that, years of suppressed sexual tension on both their sides brought to the fore.

If it wasn’t for the fact it all felt so fucking  _ good _ , Barbara would have been mortified that she came so quickly on her boyfriend’s foster father’s cock. Her scream was only muffled by the savage way she bit down on her bottom lip, her gloved fingers clawing at the bricks beneath them as her toes curled in her boots. Her cunt clenched powerfully around Batman’s bat-cock, desperate to milk his balls dry but failing to get him more than halfway there. Not that it mattered to her conscious mind at that point, left sagging to her knees in a senseless, moaning afterglow. 

It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t inside her anymore. Barbara looked up. Her eyes hazy and not focusing properly, she glanced around to see where he had gone and suddenly understood why her father complained so much about his ability to disappear. 

Suddenly, shattering glass drew Barbara’s attention to Harley Quinn’s bedroom window. It wasn’t the chaotic clown princess that broke it, though, but rather Batman’s boots as he swung right through it. 


	2. Chapter 2

As much as Harley loved her hyenas, she had to put them in their living room cages to get herself a little bit of privacy. She didn’t want her poor babies to see what she was about to do, not that she was ashamed of it. “Mama needs some girl time,” she told them, putting an end to her snivelling and screaming to put on a brave face for them. “Be good for her, now.” 

According to Guugle, the best way to get your man back after a nasty breakup was to send them a ‘little something’ that would remind them exactly what they were losing out on, and if there was one person that Harley Quinn trusted more than the Joker? It was her Guugle Nest. It had never led her astray, and nevermind the fact it wasn’t technically a person. She could ask it anything, at any time, which was really convenient when Selina was out and Ivy was sequestered.

So Harley stripped down, unaware of Batman and Batgirl watching her from across the street, not really even thinking to close her blinds. She didn’t care who saw her naked. For a (former, disgraced, also disbarred for fucking one of her patients) psychatrist, Harley looked damn good and she knew it. Toned yet supple everywhere a woman could possibly want to be, her physique rivaled if not surpassed an olympic gymnast’s. Even so, her tits were full and plush and her ass somehow stayed bubbly, the sort of features a supermodel would kill for. They belonged on a photoshoot. 

Not a supermodel’s photoshoot, but rather a porn set -- with someone else shooting the scene. Harley fuzzed and fiddled with her laptop for what felt like an eternity before finally figuring out how to work her webcam. Once it was set up and she could see her beaming face on the computer screen, she retreated to her bed and climbed atop it on her hands and knees, deciding to crawl towards the camera at the start of her little video for the Joker. “Hey, puddin’,” she purred, arching her back low so he could see her ass rise behind her whenever he watched her. “I bet you’re missin’ your Harls, so I thought--”

Suddenly, her window shattered. Harley screeched in surprise and forgot all about the recording webcam, turning to face the man suddenly intruding her bedroom sanctum. The startled fear on her features began to die away when she recognized the tall, dark and handsome stranger now standing by her window. “Bats! What are you doin’ here? I ain’t even doing anything bad right now,” she said, beginning to push up to her knees.

“Harley Quinn. You need something only I can give you,” Batman growled out, glass crunching beneath his boots as he strode across the room, clearing the distance in seconds. Any other woman confronted with such a surprise would probably scream bloody murder or try to cover herself, but Harley Quinn wasn’t most people. For one thing, she was so crazy as to be utterly fearless. She stood her ground. Kneeled it, really, her body left on lewd display, however unintentional it might have been. If there was one person that Harley Quinn trusted  _ almost _ as much as Guugle, it was Batman.

He was a good guy, after all. He always did good. Always did the right thing. She’d always assuage frightened henchmen by reminding them that Bats ‘never hurt no one who didn’t do nothin’ to deserve it’, which usually led to them being bonked by her mallet when they tried to point out they were career criminals who mostly did things to deserve it. Since she wasn’t doing anything bad, they could definitely clear up this misunderstanding and get him out of her hair.

“Whazzat?” Harley asked Batman with a smile and a perk of her eyebrows. Her forehead briefly creased and her nose gave a tiny twitch as she smelled…  _ something _ … before he stopped before her. Since he didn’t immediately jump to the Batman ‘one size fits all’ solution of ‘punch a body in the face’, she figured everything was in the green. Except Batman simply stood there, staring down at Harley’s nude body, silent and intense.

Harley tilted her head one way, then the other, and then finally glanced down. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. The front half of Batman’s pants was-- that was-- “Holy _ mackerel, _ Batman, that’s your bat-cock,” she gasped out, before breaking into tittering laughter. Batman just broke through her window with his slick cock just-- just OUT there. It was hilarious. She threw out more Robinisms, things his first Boy Wonder used to spout out constantly. This  _ had _ to be a joke! It deserved them. “Holy ravioli, Batman, you’re a grower, ain’tcha?”

Batman’s hands alighted on Harley’s shoulers, but since he was being  _ gentle _ she barely reacted. Unknownst to Harley, the pheromones were impairing her already questionable judgment. “Would you like to hear a joke, Harley Quinn?” Batman asked her, low and quiet and intense. Her eyes widened even further. 

There was NO WAY Batman knew any good jokes. No FUCKING way. “Do I,” she piped up, beaming ear to ear. She leaned forward, her legs spilling out beneath herself as she planted her hands on the bed right before her knees. “C’mon, Bats. Hit me with your best one, and if I laughs, I-- I dunno. We’ll think of somethin’,” she declared, confident in nothing if not her casual uncertainty. 

The Batman nodded seriously. He was so serious that she was tempted to ask him ‘why so serious’. He was about to tell her a joke, after all! “Knock knock,” he intoned.

Harley eyed him skeptically. A knock-knock joke? Not the pinnacle of humour, but a good classic was still a classic. Her smile returned. “Alright, Bats. Who’s there?”

Batman opened his mouth and went, “Ahhhhhhhh.”

She hadn’t heard this one before! Suddenly, her interest was piqued. 

“Ahhhhhhhhh wh--” Before Harley could even finish asking the question, Batman slid his hands up to grab her loose pigtails, quickly pulling her forward. The girlfriend of Batman’s archnemesis didn’t even have a chance to blink or ask what the perpetual do-gooder thought he was doing before his cock was in her mouth. On the flip side, she  _ did _ have an opportunity to blink before his wet dick was pushing into her throat. His bat-pubes tickled her nostrils. She  _ probably _ should have been shocked, but…

Instead, Harley felt her already wet cunt grow wetter. She let her eyes drift shut and immediately let herself enjoy the taste of her enemy’s cock, covered in what could only be another bat-broad’s fresh pussy juice. Some women might sniff or scoff at that, but not Harley. Whether or not Batman knew it, deepthroating a nice, thick cock was her speciality. If he hoped to make Joker’s bitch gag, he was in for a rude awakening. Her gag reflex was tightly bound and restrained, tamed and only employed when  _ she _ wanted to use it. Harley worked her throat to swallow the last inch of Batman’s impressive cock, soon kissing his pelvis. 

“Ahhhhhh,” Batman grunted. It took Harley a second to realize he was finishing the joke. She cracked an eye open and peered up at him expectantly as he delivered the punchline in a complete deadpan. “It’s my cock.” Harley opened her other eye and narrowed them both at the Bat. It wasn’t a very funny joke  _ at all _ , but at least his cock was yummy. Opting to go on the offensive, she began to slide her way back up his stiff length, sealing her lips just short of its crown’s ridge, teasing its very top with the tip of her tongue before swirling her sinful muscle around it. As he grunted his approval, she let her eyelids droop with satisfaction, proud as always with a job well done.

“Better than clown cock, isn’t it?” he growled above her, twisting his gauntlet-clad fingers in her hair. Harley found herself half-humming, half-moaning her approval before she really even registered the question, the sweet vibrations reverberating in his cock. It only got better when she began to slide him back into her throat. When it  _ did _ click, well, Harley’s eternal loyalty to her Mistah J briefly won over her lust-afflicted mind. Each of her ‘uh-uh, uh-uhs’ were muffled gulps. Anyone  _ but _ someone as perceptive as Batman would just take it as the inadvertent glug-glug-glug of a solid deepthroat.

He realized she was denying him and took appropriate action, immediately seizing control back from Harley and pushing her face down on his dick. She squeaked in surprise around him, and as tame as her gag reflex was, her throat still squeezed around Batman with the noise. After his balls slapped into her chin, he pulled back and thrust himself forward again, starting to pound away into her throat one thrust after another. “Don’t lie to me,” Batman growled again, low and threatening, the voice he used to interrogate criminals while dangling them from rooftops. 

Harley went ‘uh-uh, uh-uh’ again, well aware that she was lying. Each new thrust had her gasping around Batman’s cock as he roughly used her throat like a cock cozy, her mascara beginning to run down her pale cheeks in short order. Giving head or getting facefucked had  _ never _ felt this good to her before, and she wanted to get the most she could out of the experience, tactically allowing her tight throat’s gag reflex to kick in briefly here or there to egg the Bat on further and further. Her fingers were already slipped between her legs, busily rubbing her clit, her thighs already tensing in anticipation of a quickly encroaching orgasm.

Batman glanced over his shoulder briefly, out the window, then turned his attention back down to Harley, sawing his cock into her several more times before growling out a command that shouldn’t have accomplished anything. “Cum for me,” he snarled at Harley, and much to her surprise (and immediate delight), she did, the building pressure in her cunt and body exploding outward.

Someone else’s boots hit the bedroom floor as they swung inside from the window, just like Batman did. They stepped forward, glass crunching beneath their boots as they strode forward. Harley opened her eyes hazily, her gaze almost bleary as she looked towards the woman that joined her on the bed. Commissioner Gordon’s daughter, naked but for her yellow heeled boots, gloves and utility belt? As the Bat let his hands relax in her hair, Harley slowly pulled off his cock and took a better look at Barbara. The fair-skinned redhead was flushed with arousal all over, her bald pussy swollen and thoroughly fucked. She smiled distractedly at Harley, then turned her eyes towards the only thing that mattered in the room: Batman’s dick.

“Open wide,” Batman ordered the two kneeling beauties on the bed, grabbing his thick cock and jerking himself to completion. They both did as they were told, acting like the obedient bitches they were under the phermomone’s spell, rewarded with a spray of the Dark Knight’s pearly white justice all over their tongues and faces. While Barbara gasped and seemed content to bask in cum-stained rapture, Harley wanted  _ more, more, more _ . She lunged for Batman’s cock but came short as he stepped away, grunting at her as he approached one of her shelves.

“Fine,” Harley sniffed pretentiously, full of herself and not even pretending otherwise. “I ain’t want your cock anyway, just its drippings. And we got  _ plenty _ over here,” she called after Batman, who of course ignored his newfound bitch. Blithely ignoring his silence, she turned towards Barbara -- did Barbara know who she was? Harley couldn’t remember meeting her, though of  _ course _ she knew Gordon’s daughter -- and leaned into the other woman. She surprised Barbara by taking her cheeks in her hands and leaning forward, beginning to lap up the cum off her face with long, sensual licks.

Barbara surprised even herself by not leaning away from her, instead leaning in and aiming to do the same for Harley once her face was clean. Once there was not so much as a drop on either one of their faces, they met each other’s lips and shared what thick white bat-cum was left on their tongues.

Batman’s boots crunched over glass once more as he returned to his bitches. They looked towards his cock first, still wonderfully hard and wet from Barb’s pussy and Harley’s cunt. Then their eyes raised to the jingling objects in his hand: the collars and leashes that Harley’s hyenas wore whenever she took them out for.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Poison Ivy had a tumultuous relationship with technology. She didn’t like computers, she didn’t like phones, and she certainly loathed what e-waste did to the environment. However, it had some redeeming qualities. iPods, for example, and noise-cancelling headphones. They were a birthday present from Harley and Ivy’s last line of defense against her chaotic roommate’s shenanigans. She didn’t  _ like _ to put them on, because she could barely hear the plants around her when they were blazing, but whenever the Joker dumped Harley…

Well, a woman has to do what a woman has to do. Ivy had donned the headphones an hour ago and had been tuning out Harley’s tantrum ever since, letting her finally focus on her hard work. She had just about perfected the pheromones. Just one more hour and she was sure it would be ready for a more thorough field test. 

With the headphones on, Ivy was completely and utterly unaware of the unplanned field test already going on in the living room. Her plants there tried to warn her of Batman’s presence and how he was busily basting a bun into Harley Quinn’s proverbial oven while Barbara Gordon ate out the harlequin’s ass, but she didn’t hear a word of it. She focused on her work until it was finished. When she glanced at her iPod, she saw it was 3:47 AM. Thirteen minutes to four in the morning? The supervillain decided to check in on Harley first, certain she would have worn herself out by now. Maybe Ivy would get herself a glass of water while she was at it. Rather than risk any of Harley’s braying if she  _ was _ awake, she kept her headphones on.

Oh, if only she took them off. There was no other reason to keep them on; Ivy was a naturalist through and through, and rarely bothered covering her perfectly formed body around her roommates. They had both gotten used to it long ago and didn’t even give Ivy’s nipples or cunt a second look when one became stiff or the other grew visibly swollen with her arousal. So, thinking nothing of her casual nudity, Ivy opened the door and stepped out just in time to see Batman take Barbara Gordon’s anal virginity. Harley had crawled under her and was returning the previous favor, messily eating out Batgirl’s cunt.

Not even Batman noticed her, too engrossed with the way Barbara’s tightest hole squeezed his cock. The young redhead herself mewled through her discomfort, toes curled. Though her body strained against the pain, the pleasure more than made it worth her while. For almost a full minute, Ivy stared at the threesome, her mouth hanging open before she finally uttered the fateful words: “What the fuck are you people doing?” They were wearing collars from Harley’s hyenas, thin chain leashes clutched in one of Batman’s hands.

Batman glanced up first. Harley lifted her head from Barbara’s cunt. Barbara barely managed to open her eyes, panting in lust as she stared at Ivy, whether or not she could actually see her. Silence.

Two whole seconds of it.

“Get her,” Batman barked, releasing the leashes. Both Barbara and Harley had the physical capabilities of olympic athletes. Ivy, distracted and startled as she was, didn’t stand a chance as they untangled and leapt towards her with surprising alaraicity. Particularly surprising alaraicity, considering one just had a cock in her ass and the other had been eating pussy. 

It didn’t take long for Ivy to fall for her own pheromones, and in her lust-afflicted state she wanted  _ more.  _ She willed her vines to burst through her bedroom wall, making them bloom and shower the four of them in  _ more _ of the pheromones at fault for their incredibly lewd behaviour. Wild debauchery followed.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Two hours later, Batman had his three bitches kneeling at the base of his throne, the chair situated before his powerful computer in the Bat Cave. Harley was squeezed in between Barbara and Poison Ivy, putting her oral fixation and skills to good use in her skillful worship of Batman’s cock. The other two women divided what remained of his unit between them, tonguing and sucking on his sack and the two balls inside like it was their duty. 

He tugged their leashes, his growled order reminding them that it had, in fact, become their duty. “Ivy, you criminal whore, I want your face down and your ass up.” Harley begrudging pulled off Batman’s dick and as one, the three women eased away from him. “In fact,” the Bat added as he rose to his feet, “I want you two on either side of them, and if you want a piece of this--  _ NOW _ ,” he roared at them, startling Harley and Barbara out of their pouting over losing their access to Batman’s nutsack. 

Ivy assumed her position and the other two took their places behind her. The green woman angled herself so she could glance behind her at him, bracing her cheek on a forearm kept flat against the cave’s cool and unrelenting floor. She reached behind herself and grabbed one half of her ass, pulling it wide to expose both her darkly flushed green cunt and the pucker of her little asshole to the caped crusader. “Having the best first, are we?” she asked Batman throatily, ignoring Harley and Barbara’s glares. The two more obedient bitches held their tongue. “I don’t blame you. You have good taste, Batman. Come on and fuck--”

“No. I’m punishing the worst first,” Batman retorted before she had a chance to finish, thrusting himself halfway to the hilt into her ready hole, though not the one that was wet. Ivy squeaked out in uncharacteristic surprise as he penetrated her ass and set to work on plowing her infertile field. His hand clapped down on her ass cheek, the power behind his slap making it jiggle while also making her insides tighten up around him. She chased her squeak with a gasp. “It falls on ME to keep the law in Gotham City, and you’ve terrorized this city long enough, Pamela Isley,” Batman said through gritted teeth. “Are you going to be a good girl?”

Barbara bit back her smile, but Harley giggled gleefully at the comeuppance.

“O-oh, fuck,” Ivy groaned out, her forehead slipping off her forearm and pushing into the floor as she clutched at it, her cries quickly heightening until they were echoing through the caves. Swarms of bats screeched and skittered, fleeing the cave, not that her, Batman or one of the other girls reacted to them. “F-fuck! Fuck me just like that, y-you fucking-- fuck!”

“ANSWER ME,” Batman roared like he had roared so many times before, albeit under vastly different circumstances. He slapped Ivy’s thick ass again and again, and by way of her cries it became abundantly clear that she had lost the question entirely. “Are you going to be a good girl, Pamela Isley?”

“Y-yes, y-yes, yesyes oh fuck YES,” Ivy answered… or at least seemed to, until the building pressure in her cunt became too much to bear and she came from sheer anal stimulation. Her back arched and her thighs began to shake, almost collapsing entirely as Batman hilted himself inside of her and left a load of his billionaire spunk deep in the villain’s ass.

When he pulled out, it turned out that his cock was the only thing keeping her up. She fell prone, panting and gasping, the pheromones making her orgasm mind-numbingly intense. It had a far different effect on Batman, not just turning him into a wild horndog but all but eliminating his refractory period that would necessitate a brief reprieve before getting off again.

He glanced between Barbara and Harley. While the former was smiling bashfully and staring obediently at Batman with glazed eyes, Harley was wiggling her ass, desperate for some form of attention. “It’s time for your lesson,” he sneered at the blonde, all but grabbing her off the ground in an impressive display of his sheer power. He deposited her right on top of Ivy’s mindless form, much to Harley’s shrieked delight. She grinded her pussy against Ivy’s body before lifting her hips for Batman’s convenience.

“C’mon, Mistah B, teach me a real good lesson,” the blonde clown princess of crime purred saucily, though she lost any semblance of coherency once Batman had stuck his bat-cock right into her ass, just like he did to Ivy. He didn’t bother spanking her like he did Ivy, predicting just how much Harley would enjoy that. Instead, he fucked Harley’s ass slowly, almost tenderly, almost… romantically. “O-oh,” Harley whimpered, squeezing her eyes tightly closed and leaning down, crushing her breasts to Ivy’s back. “W-what are you doin’ back there, Bats?” she moaned out, her orgasm coming just as quickly as Ivy’s did.

“Doing what the Joker could never,” Batman whispered  _ without _ his harsh edge, knowing that for a woman like Harley, this was infinitely more perverse than an all-out fuck. As he felt her near her peak, he popped his cock out of his ass and slowly pushed it into her pussy. By the time he hilted it right up to her womb, Harley was moaning and mewling. They came at the exact same time, her tight pussy milking his cock directly into her womb until she, too, collapsed in a puddle of Harley Quinn, albeit atop Ivy and not on top of the floor.

“I loves you,” Harley slurred, and beneath her Poison Ivy mumbled something that sounded much the same. Batman ignored their declared love, turning instead to the remaining woman, Barbara Gordon, the one good girl between the three of them.

“What do you want for a reward?” Batman asked, picking Barbara up with the same ease and slowly setting her back down with her ass on Harley’s. The police commissioner’s daughter balanced herself with her hands pressed to the floor behind and under her, effectively pinning both Harley and Ivy beneath her, not that either were about to move any time soon. She spread her legs wide, her gymnast training and acrobatic skills giving her everything she needed to hold the pose.

“Fuck me like I’m a bad girl,” Barbara whispered, wearing nothing but her collar and a wanton grin. Batman smiled back. A grim smile, to be sure, for that was the only sort of smile the caped crusader could wear in his cowl, but a smile nonetheless as he speared into Barbara’s wet cunt.

“Taste justice,” Batman growled, hammering Barbara’s pussy again and again. Every one of his rough thrusts were felt by the women under her, making them stir back to life, groaning and moaning and whispering encouragement just as easily as they whispered their pleading. 

“Yeah, Mistah B, give it to that librarian slut! I betcha she ain’t returned some books or somethin’. Holy late fees,” Harley giggled obnoxiously beneath Barbara.

“F-fuck me again next,” Ivy begged beneath Harley in turn, desperate and needy for more of his thick, hard justice. Batman already decided he’d use Harley’s mouth next to plug it up and put an end to her terrible jokes as soon as possible. 

He roared out as he coated the walls of Barbara’s pussy as it began to twitch and clench, her cry mixing with his. She rolled limply off Harley’s back and sprawled out on the floor, reaching for Ivy to begin kissing her while Batman began round two with Harley.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

Selina Kyle did some soul-searching after that mission and decided she didn’t need to put up with Bruce Wayne’s shit. She didn’t even need to keep being a cat burglar; she was set for life already. As much as she liked Ivy and Harley, that apartment wasn’t where she saw herself in five years. Gotham wasn’t where she saw herself in five years. 

So she packed her bags and ghosted the dark city, knowing it was in good hands and confident Harley and Ivy would balance each other out. One would give the other a sense of humanity, and vice-versa with stability. She left a note, of course. Explained where and why she was going, gave them ways to contact her in case of an emergency (and  _ only _ an emergency)...

That was seven months ago now. Now Selina Kyle lived in America’s quiet midwest, mother to almost a dozen cats. To keep herself busy, she had become a high school gym teacher. She was happy. She did normal things, mundane things. Once a week, she went to a grocery store and bought  _ groceries _ . It was incredibly novel after years and years of crime (and occasional do-gooding). 

For once, she glanced at the tabloid rack. One headline caught her eye.  **BILLIONAIRE MARRIES NOT JUST ONE REFORMED CRIMINAL, BUT TWO -- AND A LIBRARIAN! THEY TALK BABY NAMES.** She stared at that headline for several seconds, then laughed to herself and moved on. There was no way.

There was a way. Harley named her baby boy Thomas Kyle. Ivy named  _ her _ baby boy Alfred Rowan, and of course Barbara’s girl, the lone girl of the lot, was simply Martha. 

As you might imagine, Selina got really good at ignoring any news related to Gotham City. Really, really good. That was the best way for the former cat burglar to stay sane, because -- as she said the first time the truth confronted her on national TV -- “What the FUCK?!”

**Author's Note:**

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